


My Best Customer

by LittleSixx



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bisexual Dean Thomas, Falling In Love, Fluff, Gay Blaise Zabini, M/M, POV Blaise Zabini, Post-Hogwarts, Quidditch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:01:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23801983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSixx/pseuds/LittleSixx
Summary: Blaise Zabini doesn't like Quidditch, but he definitely likes Dean Thomas.
Relationships: Dean Thomas/Blaise Zabini
Comments: 12
Kudos: 51





	My Best Customer

**Author's Note:**

> This work was written for the Death By Quill challenge. It’s no longer part of that collection.

Blaise never meant to fall in love.

It was entirely Draco’s fault that it happened. Scorpius flew his broom into a tree, but who the hell lets a four-year-old fly more than two metres off the ground? Only Draco Malfoy. He stayed home to patch up his son and dispatched Blaise to care for the broom. 

“Not Quality Quidditch Supplies, their selection is rubbish. Try that place in Helga’s Kitchen, _Bludger From Another Mother._ ”

Blaise stood at the door and stared at the sign for a full minute, half-convinced it was an elaborate prank. After all, sending him to get Quidditch supplies was like sending Gilderoy Lockart to kill a Basilisk. Blaise was far more suited to bandaging a scraped knee than shopping for broom products. He opened the shop door with a heavy sigh and stepped inside.

He anticipated the controlled chaos of a place like Honeydukes, but was surprised to find well-organized shelves and sleek displays. Only a few people were milling about the store, which appeared to have a grand total of one employee on duty. The leftmost wall was covered in racing brooms, each labeled with the model and maximum speed. There were glass cases in the middle of the shop, filled with gloves and other accessories. There was a full display of different-coloured uniforms in the middle of the wall on the right. It was clearly a place professionals shopped and Blaise was out of his element. He spotted the man behind the till and was about to ask for help when ...

Oh.

_Oh._

So that’s what it felt like. He heard stories about love at first sight, but they only ever sounded like fairytales to him. Blaise’s stomach tied itself into a knot and his heart beat just a bit faster as he stood frozen in the middle of the store like he’d been Stunned. Everything else melted away. All he could see was this person he was certain he’d met before, but perhaps never truly noticed. Blaise’s heart dropped into his stomach when the man caught his gaze.

“You need help with something?”

Blaise regained his senses enough to nod. The man hopped over the counter and held out his hand.

“Dean Thomas. I own the shop.”

“Blaise Zabini.”

If he held Dean’s hand for a second too long, neither of them mentioned it. The corner of Dean’s mouth ticked up like he was trying to hide a smile.

“I know; we went to school together. What do you need?”

“My friend’s son ran his broom into a tree, so I am here for wood varnish and broom paste, whatever the hell that is.”

Dean laughed and Blaise’s insides began to melt. Merlin’s arse, he needed to pull himself together. He flirted with men all the time, why the hell was Dean Thomas any different?

“Oak or cherry?”

“Sorry?”

“The wood on the broom?” Dean repeated. “If it’s a child broom it is either oak or cherry.”

“Hell if I know.”

Dean asked, “What _do_ you know about Quidditch?”

Blaise admitted, “Next to nothing.”

“Then I’ll teach you.”

Dean walked Blaise around the shop and explained the roles of different items in the game. Blaise couldn’t remember a single thing, but Dean’s gentle smile did him in. Blaise realized he had fallen head over heels as Dean explained the virtues of different broom pastes. Something about bristle fibres and viscosity Blaise didn’t understand, but Dean spoke about as if it was the most fascinating thing in the world. He spoke about everything in the shop, everything he made with the same intensity.

Dean held himself with relaxed confidence. He was tall, cute, and the steeled expression never quite left his eyes. As though he’d seen too much for someone who hadn’t touched thirty.

Blaise said, “I have never loved anything as much as you love all of this.”

“You’ll find it one day.” Dean smiled. “You just have to open yourself up to something unexpected.”

It just so happened that “something unexpected” was Dean Thomas. Blaise continued to find excuses to visit the shop. Week after week, Blaise learned something new. He lived for the brief moments of contact between them; the pads of Dean’s fingers as he dropped Sickles into Blaise’s open palm, Dean’s hand on the base of Blaise’s spine as he shuffled behind to help another customer, and especially how Dean would lean into him when something was “vitally important.” 

Seven weeks in, the Braking Charm on Scorp’s broom stopped working. Blaise brought it in for repair, grateful to have a legitimate reason this time. He had made so many purchases that Draco’s broom cupboard was better stocked than the Chudley Cannons’ team closet. Dean gently took the broom from Blaise’s grasp and placed it on a mount. He hummed softly as he examined it.

“These charms are notoriously awful to maintain on small brooms.”

“Which is why I came to the best.”

Blaise would swear he saw Dean’s cheeks turn pink. Dean ran his fingers slowly down the length of the handle like he was feeling for something, and it was Blaise’s turn to blush. Dean frowned and grumbled,

“No wonder the charm’s not working, they placed it at the back of the broom! It has to be at the front where you rest your hands, because you pull up to brake.” Dean gripped the front of the broomstick with one hand and said, “ _Prohibere Volatum._ ”

“That’s it, then?” Blaise asked. “You can fix it just like that?”

“Just like that,” Dean confirmed. He bit down on his lip before saying, “Scorpius seems to be involved in a rather alarming number of accidents.”

“He is Draco’s child; melodrama and deadly situations run in the family.”

“If I didn’t know better,” Dean said, moving a bit closer, “I’d think you were using Scorpius as an excuse to visit me.”

Blaise shrugged. Dean’s face was much closer than it had any reason to be. Blaise chanced a glance at Dean’s lips then looked up to say,

“I like the company.”

“And I like you.” Dean realized the full weight of what he said about a half-second after he finished the sentence. He dropped his shoulders and groaned, “I cannot believe I said that out loud. But you keep coming in, all gorgeous with your fancy robes and the way you think I can’t tell when you don’t understand what a word means—”

Blaise pulled Dean down by the neck of his t-shirt and snogged him. Dean seemed stunned for a moment, then placed his hands on either side of Blaise’s face and kissed him back. It was fast and messy and _perfect_. It was better than Blaise could have imagined, every part of him pressed against every part of Dean. He could do nothing but this for the rest of his life and die a happy man. When they finally broke apart, Blaise couldn’t keep the smile off his face.

“I have wanted to do that for weeks!”

“Wait, I could have done this weeks ago?” Dean paused for a moment. “Care to make up for lost time?”

“You have other customers to help.”

“Blaise, you are my best customer. I’ve been watching the door every time it opens, hoping you’d walk through,” Dean said, his breath warm against Blaise’s lips. “Everyone else will be happy I can finally pay attention to them again.”

Blaise grinned.

“I will have to do a better job of distracting you.”

* * *

Blaise quickly realized Dean owned the best Quidditch store in England. That wasn’t his bias talking; _Bludger From Another Mother_ had quite the professional endorsement. Dean outfitted the Holyhead Harpies, Viktor Krum, and even his teammate, Ivanova. 

One day about four months into their relationship, Blaise made the mistake of saying, “I have never flown on a broom.” Which is how he ended up at an empty pitch just before dark, contemplating whether to murder his boyfriend.

“I am not getting on that thing.”

“Please, it is my best model,” Dean begged. “I won’t let you fall.”

“No.”

Dean pouted, “Do you not trust me?”

“I trust you.” Blaise pointed toward the broom on the ground and said, “I don't trust _that._ ”

Dean moved behind Blaise and wrapped his arms around Blaise’s waist. It was a beautiful September evening with practically no wind; Dean insisted it was perfect flying weather. He rested his chin on Blaise's shoulder.

“Just you and me, flying together up by the stars.”

“No.”

Dean pressed a soft, lingering kiss to Blaise’s cheek and whispered, “If you ride the broom now, when we get home I’ll ride you.”

“Oh,” Blaise whined, “that is not playing fair.”

Dean pulled out his wand and cast a Cushioning Charm on the ground beneath them.

“Even if you fall it won’t hurt much.”

Blaise grumbled, “You will need a Cushioning Charm once I am done with you.”

“Promises, promises,” Dean teased. He Summoned the broom and instructed Blaise to straddle it, only just managing to keep a straight face. “Now, place both hands on the handle—”

“I know how to grip wood.”

Dean snickered, “We are never going to get through this if you keep it up.” Before Blaise could open his mouth, Dean said, “Yes, I know you can ‘keep it up’ for as long as I need. Now kick off the ground.”

Blaise did just that and nearly knocked Dean off his feet. Dean grabbed hold of Blaise and steadied himself until they were about a metre off the ground. Blaise swallowed hard, gripped the handle as tightly as he could, and looked down.

“Okay,” he nodded. “This is not horrible.” His legs were just dangling off each side, constantly trying to find purchase as though he was riding a bike and not a broom. “Are we done now?”

“Will you stop fidgeting?”

“When you put me back on the ground where I belong.”

Blaise froze as Dean leaned forward to press his chest against Blaise’s back. He took hold of the handle and assured his boyfriend,

“I’ve got it.”

He wrapped his free arm around Blaise’s waist and urged the broom a bit higher.

“It seems you confused the definitions of ‘up’ and ‘down.’” Blaise gripped Dean’s arm with one hand and felt him wince. “The ground is down there and we are going up.”

“Close your eyes and you won’t know if we’re going anywhere.”

Blaise closed his eyes and shook his head, “No, I can still tell we are going up.”

Dean didn’t reply, so Blaise held on tighter. The air cooled drastically as the moments dragged on, so he concentrated on the parts of Dean he could feel. Everything leveled out as he focused on the steady up and down of Dean’s chest. Dean put his free hand on Blaise’s thigh and pulled him in close. He asked,

“Are you ready?”

“For what?”

“Open your eyes.”

Blaise shook his head and said, “No.”

“Come on, I didn’t bring you all the way up here so you could miss the view.”

Blaise opened his eyes and his jaw dropped. Right in front of him along the horizon was the most beautiful, massive sunset he’d ever seen. If he reached a hand out, he could almost touch it. Orange light rippled along the clouds, silhouetted against a black sky. Yellow, orange, and pink light filtered down to the horizon, and the clouds were closer than they had any reason to be. Blaise leaned forward for a moment but Dean pulled him back.

“Do not look down.”

“Okay,” Blaise croaked out, his voice hoarse with fear. He covered Dean’s hand with his own. “It is beautiful.”

“I can’t believe you’ve never done this.”

“And you have?”

“Everyone on the Quidditch team did this at least once,” Dean replied. 

“You were never on the team.”

“Ginny was.”

“Oh.”

“It was different with her, though.”

“Why?”

There was a long pause before Dean said, “I didn’t love her.”

All the air left Blaise’s lungs at once. He said it. _He said it._ His heart was racing, and not because he was several stories up in the air on nothing but a broomstick. Dean Thomas loved him. Dean was fair, generous, the sort of person who never judged a situation without hearing all the facts. A person Blaise could trust, and a far better one than he deserved.

“You, uh, going to say something?” Dean asked, a little nervous.

“I have loved you from the moment I saw you in your shop,” Blaise admitted. “I am not just saying that because you could push me off at any moment.”

Dean chuckled and hid his smile in Blaise’s shoulder.

“You never asked permission to carve your space in the world; you found something you loved and poured yourself into it. You handle your customers with grace and kindness even when they do not deserve it. No one has ever looked at me and seen what you see. You are the first person to ever make me feel like I deserve to be loved.” 

“Only because everyone else was too lazy to see what I found.” He perched his chin on Blaise’s shoulder. “Luckily I found you first, and I plan to keep you.”

“Do you know what that makes me?” Blaise asked.

“Hmm?”

“A _Keeper_.”

“I swear on Merlin’s grave I will push you off this broom.”

“No,” Blaise insisted through his laughter, “you love me too much.”

“You’re right,” Dean agreed with a smile, “I do. You're my best customer.”

* * *

“I want to show you something.”

Dean had insisted on closing the shop late, so Blaise agreed to meet him there. They’d been dating nearly a year and Blaise hadn’t been able to retain much about the game of Quidditch. He had, however, begun to love Dean’s passion for it.

“I have seen the entire shop half a dozen times.”

“No, um,” Dean gave him a shy smile and asked, “would you like to see my workshop?”

“Yes!” 

Blaise couldn’t keep the excitement out of his voice. Dean never allowed anyone back there. The door was equipped with an Access Charm, which Granger patented right out of Hogwarts. It only opened at Dean’s touch and prevented uninvited guests from entering the room. The moment Blaise walked through the door, it was as if Dean had finally revealed his most closely-held secret.

The workshop was massive, with a kiln and smelter on the far wall and a rack of tools several metres long hanging prominently to the left. There were three separate workbenches scattered across the room, each with a half-finished product sitting on top waiting for Dean to return. 

“Over here!” Dean motioned for Blaise to meet him at the end of the closest bench. 

“Did you buy me a present?”

“No, I didn’t buy you a present.” Dean sighed. “You have enough money to buy Buckingham Palace, so I _made_ you a present.”

“Oh!” Blaise said, not quite sure what to make of those words. “Thank you?”

Dean pulled on a large, thick glove and asked, “What do you think is the most difficult thing I have to make?”

“Bludgers?” Blaise offered. “There was a time your customer nearly let one out—”

“Making Bludgers is fairly straightforward and a simple Cheering Charm does wonders for them. They are misunderstood, they only want attention.” Dean picked up a square black box with his ungloved hand and said, “The most important part of any Quidditch match is also the most difficult to create.” He opened the box to reveal a small golden ball with intricate lines carved across the surface, nestled in a black silk base. 

“I know this one,” Blaise said. “The Snitch, yes?”

“Yes,” Dean confirmed with a proud smile. “I knew I would teach you something that would stick. The first step in the process is heating the metal and pouring it into the mold. Once I’ve cast the ball, I fabricate the wings, which takes ages. Then I bring it to life, and sometimes I still have difficulty with that charm.”

Dean took the Snitch in his gloved hand and placed the box on the table. He took Blaise’s right hand and placed the Snitch on Blaise’s open palm. His heart was skipping beats, as it always did when Dean held his hand. 

Dean leaned forward to say, “ _Vita Volant Locomotor_.”

As if waking from a long slumber, the Snitch unfurled its wings and stretched out to its full length. It hummed quietly as the wings moved quickly enough for the Snitch to hover above Blaise’s hand. It zipped quickly to one corner of the room, then another, then zoomed back to Blaise’s hand.

“ _Whoa_ ,” was all he could manage.

“Snitches have flesh memories.” Dean explained, “In case of a tie or disputed catch, there needs to be a way to determine who touched it first. You touched this Snitch first, and now it’s yours.”

Blaise continued to stare at the walnut-sized ball in awe. The craftsmanship alone was impressive, but this felt special.

“How long does it take you to make one?”

“A few days, but probably about seventeen hours of active work. This one took a bit longer, though.”

“You took all that time just to make this for me?” Blaise asked. “Thank you.”

“It is the least I could do for my best customer.”

“Is that all I am,” Blaise teased, “a customer?”

“Open it and find out.”

Blaise frowned.

“Open it?”

“Yes.”

“Alright.” Blaise let the Snitch fall into his palm and said, “ _Emancipare_.” 

Its wings curled inward and the top half retracted to reveal a platinum ring. When he looked up, Dean was down on one knee. Blaise just stared at Dean for a moment, then glanced at the ring before looking Dean in the eyes and asking,

“Is this for me?”

Dean nodded, his face flushed. He took a deep breath and looked Blaise in the eyes as he said,

“I never knew what I wanted to do with my life. When I was little I wanted to play football. At Hogwarts I thought I’d be an Auror, but after the war I wanted something steadier. I wanted something that wouldn’t have me looking over my shoulder every day for the rest of my life. This shop is nice for now, and I enjoy Quidditch. I enjoy making things with my hands.”

Blaise’s heart hammered against his ribcage, threatening to leap right into Dean’s lap.

“But I cannot let this shop be my life. I know I need something more, someone I don’t have to sell to. When you walked through the door that first time, I was nervous to even speak with you. You are so beautiful I never thought you would go for someone like me. I am just a Quidditch supplier with a messy family and too many scars.”

Blaise insisted, “You are so much more than that.”

“Yes,” Dean agreed, “and you never made me compete for a place in your life; not with your friends or your fortune. You make me laugh, and the only thing I love more than falling asleep in your arms is waking up with you in the morning. This past year I have been happier than I can ever remember, and it is entirely because of you. I finally figured out what I want to do with my life, Blaise Zabini.” Water pooled in the corners of Dean’s eyes when he said, “I want to be your husband. Will you marry me?”

“Yes!” Blaise couldn’t say it quick enough. “YES!” He pulled the ring out of the Snitch and placed it on his finger before pulling Dean up off the floor to snog him. It was slow, tender, and absolutely fucking perfect. He broke away and said, “I will marry you on one condition.”

“Which is?”

“You never try to get me on a broomstick again.”


End file.
